


A Cup of Light

by Aemileth



Series: Consider Maeglin [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Darkness, Dead Character, Gen, Halls of Mandos, Redemption, non-physical concepts acting in a physical way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aemileth/pseuds/Aemileth
Summary: In the Halls of Mandos, Maeglin receives a visitor. Olorin finds a lost soul.
Series: Consider Maeglin [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598929
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	A Cup of Light

Olórin entered the chamber, passing swiftly through the mists and glistening vapours that haunted the Halls of Mandos. A few bold spirits fluttered about his golden form like moths drawn to a flame, their faint thoughts and memories prickling against the outskirts of his mind. Olórin greeted them softly, yet did not falter, and after releasing their frail and fleeting holds, the spirits drifted off in search of more fulfilling company. 

Nay, it was not these friendly, if overeager, spirits that had drawn him forth to seek this particular chamber. His was a much more difficult and strenuous task. 

The shadows grew thicker, the air more dense as he grew closer to his intended destination. Trails of bitterness and filaments of misplaced memories lashed against his form, embracing his figure only to draw back violently at every connection of light. 

Yes, this corner, dark and cold as it was, soaked with sorrow, and shaded from the healing light: He had arrived. And there in the midst lay the Traitor.

“I mean you no harm.” Olórin raised a hand in greeting, prompting one tendril of shadow to mimic the motion. “I wish only to help you find peace.”

The shadows flared. That was good, at the very least he was being heard.

_Leave me alone._

“I will remain here, for such is my charge. I am here for your benefit. I am here to listen, to hear, to guide, and to console.” 

_Shut up._

“Tell me what troubles you. Allow me to guide you back, to light, to hope, to happiness, Lómion.”

_Do not call me that! That is not my name. I have no name._

“Maeglin is your name,” Olórin whispered, holding the word carefully in the core of his thought and forming it tenderly on his lips. A strange name it was...a bright title consumed by shadows, a blessing turned curse.

The shadows recoiled, corners and edges spiking and jutting out in various directions. 

_Maeglin is my name,_ came the confirmation, as spoken through gritted teeth. _I am of the Darkness._

“Is that what you believe? I do not think that.” Olórin took a careful step forward. The dark mist surged against its boundaries to avoid his light. “You have a name. There is a story attached to it, and I am here to listen.” 

The darkened form withered against the ground, spirals of fear twirling within. 

_I know your kind!_ The tone became frantic _. I've dealt with your twisted words! Curse you all! I will not be your play thing!_

Olórin swept his robes before him and eased himself into a sitting position, across from the Traitor. He smiled. “There is no need for cursing. I told you before, Maeglin, that I mean you no harm. I speak truthfully. You may leave if you so wish. I do not mean to keep you here against your will.”

Maeglin trembled. The coils of black shadow snaked around his figure, exposing his face for Olórin to see. Weariness and pain lined its features, open wounds and untold suffering swam beneath the surface of glassy eyes.

“Why do you torment yourself?” 

_Do not pity me out of some fabricated obligation! Hate me and be done with it._

“I came not to hate nor judge, but to listen.”

A bitter scoff bit into the air. 

_I have no story to tell. I killed every story I knew long ago. Be gone with you... I am tired… I am..._

"You are wounded, Maeglin. Your story is one of much suffering."

_What would you do? I sold myself to Darkness._

“I would guide you back. I would see you happy and surrounded by those who love you.” 

_No one loves me._ The words sank heavily into the air.

“What of your mother?” 

_Do not speak of her,_ Maeglin whispered. _I have become the Darkness she so hated. That is what I was destined to be. A child of Twilight. A being of Darkness._

Anger flared through the Maia’s veins. "These are not your words, Maeglin. It was an evil tongue that spoke to you thus.”

_Perhaps. But I have come to believe that it is true. Though there is no other purpose behind it. There is no meaning to my existence. Perhaps I am now a child of the Void._

“That is false.”

_It does not matter now. I am dead. I am silent. My mark on the world is done and passed. Again I find myself alone. I was a fool to have hoped... I was a fool to have dreamt…_

“What was it then, that you dreamt of?”

_Why does it matter? I am not worthy of dreaming. I am Darkness. I am evil. I am Ill-gotten. Traitor. Betrayer. Abomination. Perhaps I should have been an orc. They said I had it in my veins._

“They were wrong, but that is besides the point. You did not answer my question.”

_I do not know what I dreamt of! Power and strength! To be revered, to be admired!_

“This is what the Darkness promised you, what lurked inside you and laid claim upon your heart. But what was it that you dreamt of?”

_I wanted Idril. I wanted her fair features, her graceful body, her heart. I wanted all of her to be mine._

Memories of that fair one filled the air, a beautiful face with cold eyes that burned with hatred.

_She hated me. She always hated me. I loved her so much..._

Olórin gently guided the images aside. “What did you dream of, Lomion, when you were only a child? When you laid under the stars of Nan Elmoth and felt your heart beating deep within your chest, alive with the sweet spirit of Song?” 

Maeglin was quiet a moment; the shadows about his form wavered then twisted in painful clarity. Tears shimmered in his dark eyes, little specks of silver against pools of black ink.

_I cannot say._

Olórin drew himself up from the floor and shook the shades from his form. Light flittered around his figure like sparkling dust. He turned back and regarded the Traitor with a sad smile. “Sorrow is no evil thing. To feel pain, to suffer, to hurt, that is not wrong,” he said. “There is no need to hide these feelings.”

_Why do you say this?_ Maeglin whispered, catching a pale gleam within his tearful eyes. 

“Because you cling to untruths, Maeglin. You see into your heart and you try so hard to suppress and rewrite what is written within it.”

_You do not know my heart!_ Maeglin cried, but the shadows spilled out and down and bled lifelessly upon the floor. They lay as black loops of rope by his feet. 

“You have done a great evil, and you have injured yourself,” Olórin continued softly, his voice rang sweet and steady as a golden river, though tears gathered in his bright eyes. “You suffer because you force yourself to think that you can do no right. You continue to die in these shadows, reliving your own demise, because you try to believe that you are of the Darkness when you know you are not. You hurt because you regret, and you tell yourself you shouldn’t.” 

Maeglin sagged against the floor, and purple strands of misery sprang into the thinning air. A harsh silver voice clawed its way up among them, hissing hate and bleeding bitterness from a ruptured memory. _Here you shall fail of all your hopes, ill-gotten! Here you shall die!_

Olórin caught the intrusion abruptly in his fist, and brought the flailing twines of those hopeless thoughts down with the swipe of his hand and thus into submission. “No place have you here,” he barked sharply to the retreating humm of memory and the scraps of lingering thought. “Those bonds are broken.” 

Silence settled once more over the chamber. A few moments passed before Olorin spoke again, but now the air carried his voice more heartily. 

“I tire of these gloomy surroundings.” 

Maeglin glanced up, watching him with eyes that were weary yet less clouded and glimmering with a renewed longing. 

“Won’t you come with me for a time?” the Maia asked, holding out a hand to the Traitor as one would offer in friendly companionship. “It’s brighter where I dwell, and far more merrier the mood. We can walk in the gentle light, and perhaps, you can tell me your story then.”

Maeglin’s gaze fell to the inky ropes before him, black and bitter and shallow as they were. No longer offering a place to hide. No longer posing a way to shun the light. And no longer binding him. He lifted his eyes to the offered hand and then reached out. 


End file.
